A Voice Between Two Lands: The Strength of a Ukrainian Woman in Times of War

In a small corner of the Costa Brava, far from the bombs, power cuts, and sirens that sound every day in her native country, Verónica Naranjo Pavlova, a Ukrainian woman who came to Spain as a teenager, shares with serenity and strength her personal experience in the midst of the war that has shaken all of Europe. Her story is not only that of someone who has lived through exile forced by circumstance, but also that of a woman who has managed to reinvent herself, support her loved ones from afar, and continue building a life with dignity.

She was born in Ukraine, grew up between Cuba and Ukraine, and arrived in Spain at the age of sixteen. That mix of cultures shaped her identity and, unknowingly, prepared her to face one of the most difficult moments of her life. “When I came here, it was a shock at first, but I adapted quickly. Spain wasn’t so different from Cuba, and that helped,” she recalls with a soft smile, though behind her words lies the nostalgia of someone who has had to learn to live with uprootedness.

A Country at War and a Divided Family

In Ukraine, she left behind her grandfather, a cousin, a friend whose husband has been on the front line since March 2022, and many childhood friends. She speaks with them every week, although sometimes communication is scarce out of fear that sensitive information might be leaked. “My best friend is there. She doesn’t tell me much, but I know that everyone is afraid. They’re exhausted. Inflation is high, prices have gone up, and people are very tired,” she explains.

Among the names and stories she mentions, one weighs heavier than the rest: that of a relative who has been missing at the front since October. “We didn’t even know he was there. The only thing they do is take DNA samples from families and wait. We have no news,” she says, her voice restrained.

Identity and Language: Between Russian and Ukrainian

Her childhood unfolded in a Ukraine where Russian and Ukrainian coexisted naturally. “When I was little, we spoke Russian, and Ukrainian was mostly for school or television. Now it’s different. Many people are reclaiming Ukrainian as an act of resistance and pride,” she says. That linguistic shift also reflects the broader social transformation accelerated by the war.

She lives between two worlds but denies neither. She speaks Ukrainian fluently, though she often thinks in Russian. “It took me a while to switch my mindset, but it’s part of our history. There’s no contradiction—it’s a struggle to preserve our identity,” she affirms.

A Diaspora That Sustains

Like many in the Ukrainian diaspora, she participates in support groups, sends aid, and stays in constant contact with family and friends. She doesn’t do it out of obligation but out of conviction. “I’ve never had to think about whether to help or not. It’s simply what you do,” she says. Through informal networks, compatriots across Europe and the United States work together to send clothing, medicine, resources, and moral support to those who remain in the country.

Distance doesn’t isolate her; instead, it has made her a bridge between worlds. “Here I have my life, my job, my family… but every day, at some point, I think about what’s happening there. You can’t disconnect,” she confesses.

Language, Culture, and Belonging

Her story also reveals the complexity of being Ukrainian abroad during such a tense historical moment. “I have Russian clients here, and I’ve never had any problems with them. Some have even apologized, even though they’re not directly to blame. Every story is different,” she says.

When she remembers her teenage years in Spain, she doesn’t hesitate: “It was tough at first, but it also gave me strength. I learned to adapt without losing who I am. That’s what’s helped me get through this war without breaking down.”

Looking Ahead

When she talks about the future, her voice mixes hope with pragmatism. “I know it won’t be easy to recover everything that’s been lost. There are many occupied territories and many people who have died. But I also know that the Ukrainian people are strong. We’ve resisted before, and we’ll do it again.”

There is no forced heroism in her words. There is a quiet strength, a clarity that only those who have lived through exile without letting exile define them possess. She is a mother, a daughter, a friend, a worker, and above all, a witness to an era marked by war and civil resistance.

In her, a collective story takes shape: that of thousands of Ukrainians who, from afar, continue to fight for their country, care for their loved ones, and keep alive a culture that refuses to disappear. “It’s difficult, but not impossible,” she says finally, and in that phrase resonates the dignity of an entire people.